


Ho, Ho, Holy Shit (Or, The Time Derek Hale Forgot About Christmas)

by piratekelly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christmas, Fluff, Holiday, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s December 10th when it hits Derek, roughly around the same time the plate he’d been holding hits the floor, that Christmas is two weeks away and he’s done a grand total of nothing.  Stiles has been hoarding presents all year (he’s a “buy it when you see it” kind of guy) and as such has long since finished and wrapped all of his gifts.</p>
<p>And then there’s Derek, slack-jawed in the middle of his kitchen floor, surrounded by shards of porcelain because he fucking forgot Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ho, Ho, Holy Shit (Or, The Time Derek Hale Forgot About Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoubleScript](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleScript/gifts).



> For DoubleScript, whose prompt included Christmas, 5+1, and humor, with a bonus for First Christmas. Hope you like it!

It’s December 10th when it hits Derek, roughly around the same time the plate he’d been holding hits the floor, that Christmas is two weeks away and he’s done a grand total of _nothing_. Stiles has been hoarding presents all year (he’s a “buy it when you see it” kind of guy) and as such has long since finished and wrapped all of his gifts.

And then there’s Derek, slack-jawed in the middle of his kitchen floor, surrounded by shards of porcelain because he fucking forgot _Christmas._

He had all these plans, okay, to make his and Stiles’ first Christmas as a couple really special. It was going to include a disaster-free pack gathering, a laid back night at the Sheriff and Melissa’s house, and end with giving Stiles the most perfect of perfect gifts, one that could never be topped, one that, unfortunately, Derek has given zero thought.

Despite the entire universe conspiring against him yet again, he will not be deterred. Derek Samuel Hale will find the Holy Grail of all Christmas gifts. It will be so incredible that the pack will be talking about it for years to come, it’ll be used as the standard to which all future Christmases must meet. It’s going to be fucking amazing.

And he’s going to do it right after he sweeps the kitchen floor.

**1\. Allison and Lydia**

He goes to Lydia first.

It goes about as well as expected.

Derek winds up driving Lydia to the mall two towns over because “Stiles needs new, well-fitted clothes, like California needs rain”, which is to say that at the tender age of 23, graphic tees and baggy jeans were apparently no longer acceptable. Allison tried to tell Lydia that there were other more accurate, less expensive options, but Lydia had been given an opportunity she’d waited years to take, and dammit, she was going to take full advantage.

It takes them two hours to get there, and Derek’s over the whole trip by the time they park. Lydia used every second of the drive to toss ideas back and forth with Allison, who kept giving Derek sympathetic looks every time he checked the rear view mirror.

It’s all sort of a blur once they get inside.

Lydia takes them from store to store, styles varying all the way from affordable to far too expensive, designs that hit every point of the fashion spectrum, and while he appreciates Lydia’s very thorough attempt at sparing Derek from giving Stiles a thoughtless Christmas gift, there’s a baby in the next store over that desperately needs its diaper changed and an old lady talking very loudly on her cell phone down the hall and he really wants to leave. He’s had his fill of the best clothing Beacon County has to offer, and if the way Allison slumps against his side after hour three of their search is any indication, so has she.

“Aren’t you supposed to like this stuff?”

Allison snorts. “Only when I’m shopping for crossbows, not hair bows.”

He probably should have known that.

“I found it.”

Derek and Allison both turn to see Lydia standing in front of them holding a pair of charcoal pants and a gray cable knit sweater. The sweater is nice enough, the pattern on the front similar to a DNA helix, and Derek would love to see just a hint of Stiles’ collar bone in the vee of the neck, all that pale skin exposed and leaving him wanting. The pants would do great things for Stiles’ ass, and Derek has to admit that Stiles would look great in them, but as much as Derek would love it for Stiles, he’s not sure that Stiles would love it for himself.

The idea is great, yes, but also extremely impersonal. Sweaters are what you give people when you want to stop having sex with them, not when you’d like to have _more._

In the end, Derek thanks Lydia for her time and expertise, but admits that clothes aren’t what he’s really looking for. Stiles would know that he didn’t pick any of this out, and that just won’t do.

Lydia buys it anyway.

Allison gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Talk to Scott.”

Derek nods and watches her walk to catch up with Lydia, telling himself that this idea never would have worked anyway. He has a complicated relationship with Stiles’ clothes.

He much prefers them on the floor.

**2\. Erica**

Derek comes home two days later, still gift-less and feeling particularly defeated, to see Erica sitting on the couch, laptop resting on her knees. (At least it’s hers this time – he hid his after he came home one day to her reading through some of his and Stiles’ more… _private_ conversations.)

She’s dressed down today, loose fitting jeans and an old grey tank, hair pulled back into a messy bun. He appreciates what the leather skirts and low cut tops do for her confidence, how they make her feel powerful in ways she never did before the bite, but he also loves when she dresses down, no makeup and carelessly clothed. It means she’s comfortable, that he’s created a place for his pack that allows them to feel comfortable with whoever they are that day. His wolf preens, delighted that after years of struggling to get it right, the pack is finally moving in the right direction.

“I’ve got a great idea.”

All the fondness he feels for her leaves his body with a single, deep sigh. Erica having a great idea never ends well.

He drops his keys in the bowl by the front door, toeing off his shoes before padding into the living room and to the couch where Erica is sitting. He moves to sit next to her, but stops mid-squat when he catches a glimpse of the screen.

**_DIY Dongs!_ **

“Nope,” he grunts, standing back up and making his way towards the kitchen.

“It’s foolproof, Derek! It’s the definition of a gift that keeps on giving. Stilinski gets what he wants when you have to go out of town and you get to sleep through the night when he doesn’t have to call for a helping hand.”

“First of all,” Derek says, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. “Don’t think for one second that I believe you’re in any way uncomfortable with overhearing those phone calls, on the rare occasions when you stumble in on them. Second, a lot of your assumptions about my relationship are couched in stereotypes. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

Erica frowns for a moment, and Derek revels in his few seconds of glory before the joke lands. It’s not often that he manages to surprise her, so he celebrates the few moments when he does. Stiles likes to call them his “internal touchdown dances”.

“Oh,” she mutters, confused expression morphing into one of pure mischief. “ _Oh_. So, like –”

“No, Erica. You still can’t watch.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouts.

“I’m plenty of fun. I just don’t consider dick molds a good time.”

“Fine,” she groans. “Be that way.”

“I will,” he says. “Now, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Erica smiles, turning back to her computer. “Nowhere that’s more fun than this.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek stammers. He’s fresh out of one-liners for the day, which means that, ultimately, she’s bested him yet again. “Fun’s over.”

She absently waves him off. “Whatever. Have Stiles help you get that stick out of your ass next time you guys are alone.”

“There’s nothing up –”

“Not yet, there isn’t.”

God _dammit_. “I regret knowing you.”

“Lies. Now fuck off. If you can’t see the brilliance of my idea, you need to leave.”

Derek decides to take the exit as it’s given, and begins to make his way to the stairs. He’s nearly free, almost to the top of the landing, when he hears it.

“Maybe I can get Boyd to do it.”

Derek cringes to himself, but keeps walking. There are some things he is much better off not knowing.

**3\. Scott**

It takes him another week to find the nerve to approach Scott, but he does.

His plan is to swing by Scott and Allison’s place, pick Scott’s brain for ideas, and leave feeling a little more confident than when he arrived. At some point on his way home, he would come up with a genius idea, sparked by Scott’s sage advice, and all of his problems would be solved.

Instead, they meet at the vet’s office, and Derek is covered in kittens.

“You really couldn’t have met with me after your shift?”

Scott shrugs, gently nudging a tiny Siamese cat with his foot while he bottle-feeds a tiny bundle of fur. “Sorry, dude, but it’s my anniversary tonight, and I’m taking Allison out of town for a few days.”

Derek nearly misses the slight uptick in Scott’s heartbeat; it’s a little difficult to find when you have a lap full of purring cats, but he does, and it doesn’t take long for the disturbance to become obvious.

“I know what you’re doing, Scott.”

Scott just settles one kitten into a box and picks up another, gently nudging the nipple of the bottle against its mouth until it takes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not adopting a cat.”

“But they need homes!”

Derek sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while petting a grey cat with the other. “Deaton has more than enough room for them. Besides, you know Stiles is allergic.”

“Only to one type of cat,” Scott mutters.

“Scott,” Derek warns. 

“I know, I know,” Scott sighs. “No erasing Stiles’ history with women just because he’s in a committed relationship with a man. In my defense, it’s pretty easy to forget anyone that came before you. Not because they weren’t important, but it just seems like it’s always _been_ you to some degree.”

He tries to hide his blush in the neck of a white cat that’s sitting on his shoulder, but he knows he fails. It feels like it travels all the way up to his ears and then there’s Scott who’s unsubtly trying not to laugh.

“Can we just talk about what I came here to discuss before I turn into a walking pile of cat dander?”

Scott snorts. “Too late, but sure.”

“What should I get Stiles for Christmas?” Scott looks equal parts confused and surprised, as if he’s wondering why Derek is approaching him with this question. “Allison told me to ask you.”

“Gotcha,” he nods. “Well, he likes video games, pizza, and you.”

“Astute observations, all of them,” Derek snarks.

“You know what I mean,” Scott says as he puts the last kitten down with all the others, smiling as it nosedives into a pile of fluff and settles in for a nap. “Stiles is pretty easy to please. He needs his dad, his friends, you, and something interesting to focus on. That’s it.”

Derek buries his face in his hands with a groan. “What if I wanted to do something nice for him?”

Scott pauses, seeming to actually take the time to give him thoughtful advice, and not for the first time in the last seven years, Derek is reminded of how far they’ve come since that day in the woods. They’re not close, not by any stretch of the imagination when you compare them to the rest of the pack, but there’s a mutual respect and fondness there that speaks volumes as to how much they’ve grown as individuals. Scott’s been a reliable confidant, and Derek is very, very glad he’s around.

“When did you first feel something for him?”

Derek frowns. “What?”

Scott rolls his eyes as if this is the first time he’s ever had to spell things out for someone. “When did you first have positive feelings toward Stiles?”

Derek doesn’t have to think very long before answering. “The pool.”

Scott quirks his head to the side, and Derek’s not entirely sure that Scott even knows about Stiles treading water for two hours to keep him alive while the kanima poison worked its way out of his system. Anyone else might have let him sink to the bottom to drown – he knows the Scott of now wouldn’t have let him die, but with how he remembers his interactions with sixteen-year old Scott, who felt so cheated, who hated what he’d become, he’s not so sure – but Stiles, despite his better judgment and his complete lack of regard for his own safety, stayed.

“Oh, yeah, the pool! Dude, you should totally take him there! Get some nice lighting, maybe a picnic. Oh, oh! Tell him you’re glad he saved you from drowning, because now you get to drown in his love.”

Derek just nods before patting Scott on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Scott. I’ll keep it in mind.”

It’s not the greatest idea, and Derek’s definitely not going to do it, but it’s a lot closer to what he’s aiming for than a mold of his dick.

**4\. Isaac**

“You could always get him a scarf.”

“No.”

“But –”

“No.”

“They’re very functional!”

_“Isaac.”_

“Okay.”

**5\. Jackson**

They’re sparring in the open field where the Hale house once stood when Jackson, of all people, comes up with a not terrible idea.

Derek’s dripping sweat, tired to the bone, and ready to head home and collapse face-first in bed, but he’s finally pinned Jackson and he wants to gloat, so he’s breathing through the exhaustion, focusing on forcing Jackson to admit defeat.

Jackson manages to get one arm loose, extending it to one side as his body gradually relaxes. “You should get Stiles a phone.”

Derek frowns, leaning up so that he’s basically sitting on Jackson’s back. “Wha-–”

He doesn’t get to finish the question. Jackson somehow manages to buck Derek off of him, get up, and pin him down before Derek can even realize it’s happened. 

“It’s no fun winning when you’re distracted,” Jackson complains, standing up and offering Derek a hand. “I almost feel a little bad having to trick you.”

Derek snorts as he brushes off his shirt. “No you don’t.”

Jackson shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

They sit together in companionable silence, drinking bottled water and watching as the sun begins o set. They’d had a lot of work cut out for them when Jackson had come back after high school in order to solidify any kind of pack bond that might have been there before he was shipped off to London. It hadn’t been easy – Derek had still been so stubborn, so sure that what he was doing was right, and Jackson was still a rebellious brat constantly out to prove something. There’d been a lot of blood and sweat and yelling, but out of it a mutual respect had been born. He and Jackson are both older now, more settled in life, more sure of themselves and their place in the world than they’d been at 22 and 16.

“Get him a phone,” Jackson says.

“But he already has one.”

“Jesus, Derek,” Jackson groans. “He’s always bitching about his phone getting caught in the crossfire when we’re trying to kill something that’s trying to kill us. So…”

“So I should keep a backlog of cell phones?”

“Get him one of this indestructible Nokia phones. God himself couldn’t break one, and Stiles will thank you for it. In ways I never want to acknowledge even happen.”

Derek smirks, bumping Jackson with his shoulder. “Still bitter that Stiles is getting more action than you?”

Jackson shakes his head. “The world no longer makes sense.”

Derek laughs, full bodied and smiling, before patting Jackson on the back and standing up. He makes his way to his car, can hear Jackson shuffling around behind him, and thinks that maybe Jackson was on the right track.

**+1 John Stilinski**

Jackson was not on the right track.

Well, Jackson hadn’t been totally wrong; the idea had some actual merit to it, and were it Stiles’ birthday or the 4th of July or something, Derek probably would have followed through on it, no (more) questions asked.

He’s certainly wishing he had now. It’s Christmas Eve and Derek. Is. Giftless. Without gifts. Sans presents. Completely empty-handed.

Derek wishes he’d started thinking about this sooner. They’ve been together almost a year at this point, have known each other for seven more but once the holiday season rolled around he’d had to go out of town to meet with alphas from neighboring territories. And then Stiles had moved in around Halloween. And then there were _faeries_ , and suddenly, it was the beginning of December and all he knew was blind panic.

Which is why he’s on Sheriff Stilinski’s front porch around six on Christmas Eve, feeling like he’s going to hurl.

“Derek?”

So Derek’s not really all that sure how to approach the situation now that he’s subconsciously dragged himself all the way across town to his boyfriend’s dad’s house, so he pulls a Stiles and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Help,” he whines.

John just rolls his eyes and pulls him inside by his shoulder. Five minutes later he finds himself sitting across the dinner table from the man who once arrested him for his own sister’s murder, who is now pushing a tumbler of whiskey toward him.

“It doesn’t work on me,” Derek says.

“Oh good,” John replies as he picks up the glass, pouring its contents into his own. “More for me, then.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t ask, but he does it anyway. “Isn’t that a little…much?”

John huffs out a laugh, but Derek’s pretty sure it wasn’t because his question was funny. “Not nearly enough to handle this conversation, but if you’re that concerned, then let’s get this over with.”

“O… _kay_?”

“So come on,” John replies, motioning for Derek to continue. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what, exactly?”

“What you came here to ask me.”

“Which is?”

“Well,” John grunts. “You’re here to ask for Stiles’ hand, right?”

Derek feels all the blood rush from his face. “What.”

“What?”

“I just,” Derek sighs, burying his face in his hands. “Where did I go wrong?”

“Wrong?” John asks, straightening up in his chair. “I’ll have you know that –”

“I just wanted to know if you had any ideas for last minute gifts for Stiles because I’ve been looking for weeks but honestly, world peace seems more likely at this point.”

“Oh,” John says, pushing the chair back as he stands. “Well that one’s easy.”

He takes John’s absence to take stock of his emotions. He’s relieved that he may have something to give Stiles after all, something that might actually mean a great deal to him. He’s a little confused as to why John thought he’d come here for, well… _that_ , considering they’d been together less than a year. (He’s really hoping that John was just fucking with him, but Derek values his life, so he’s never going to ask. He’s here for a Christmas present, the last thing he needs to do is offend the person saving his ass at the last possible second.)

There’s a lot of muffled cursing before the Sheriff returns, gently setting a picture frame face down on the table in front of Derek. It smells old, dusty and stale, as though it’s been packed away for years. Derek carefully picks it up, turning it over slowly in case anything broke while in storage, and for one second, he forgets to breathe.

The picture is at least 20 years old, considering how small Stiles is in the cradle of his mother’s arms, smiling with his arms raised as John kisses Claudia’s cheek behind him. Stiles’ dad is dressed as Santa, donning a red hat and outfit, beard pulled down below his chin for the moment. Claudia looks vibrant, ivory skin and brown hair glowing in the light of the tree that sits to her right. Her eyes are closed but she’s grinning, healthy, so happy that not for the first time, Derek’s heart clenches at the thought of Stiles having to grow up without her. Derek lost his own parents, yes, but he’d had more time with them, and none of it spent watching someone slowly fade away.

Their lives may be far from perfect, but this gift is.

The sound of the Sheriff’s voice pulls him out of his revere. “I was waiting to give him that until his first Christmas with his own family, but now’s good, too.”

He’s not sure that he actually manages to force out a proper thank you around the lump in his throat, but the small smile John gives him is indication enough that he’d at least tried.

They spend another twenty minutes casually shooting the shit, briefly discussing their plans for the following day before Derek announces that Stiles should be home soon and he really needs to get this wrapped before then.

“You know,” John says as he opens the front door. “This started out really weird, so I think it’s best that we probably forget this ever happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek deadpans.

John laughs, patting Derek on the shoulder as he gently nudges Derek outside. “Good man.”

***

Derek opens the door to a quiet house, dark and warm and full of the unmistakable scent of _home_. He flips on the porch light – there’s a slick spot on the third step and Derek does not want to spend Christmas in the ER with a whiny Stiles – before closing the front door. The second the door latches he races up the stairs into the office, where he and Stiles have kept all Christmas related things stored for the last month. He grabs the most horrendous roll of giftwrap he can find (lime green with strips of bacon) and gets to work. It takes all of five minutes to do a haphazard wrap job. It’s far from the best, but Christmas, in general, is not one of his strengths. One year, he tried to cut giftwrap with his claws and wound up cutting the carpet, too.

Christmas is hard, okay?

He heads downstairs, ordering Thai food on his phone as he makes his way through the living room and into the kitchen. He pulls an opened bottle of Riesling from the fridge, moving over to the cabinets to pick out the only two wine glasses that still match. (Monopoly nights get brutal. Nothing is safe.) He sets everything out on the counter and makes his way back to the living room where their tree stands near the patio doors, sparkling but unlit, and still just as fragrant as the day they bought it.

Derek stands back and takes in the sight, pulling in deep breaths of evergreen as he looks at the blue and silver ornaments reflecting the glow of the lights wrapped up in the branches. He remembers putting it up with Stiles just last week, carrying on their years-long tradition of putting up the tree for pack Christmas. They’d decided against popcorn garland this year, opting instead for tinsel in the hopes that maybe they could avoid a repeat of last year’s Mousepocalypse. (Allison had bruised her ankle trying to shake it out of her pant leg. Salad sailed through the air. No one was happy.) 

He thinks about the flush of Stiles’ cheeks after he’d finally put the star at the top, the look of pure joy on his face after decorating had, for once, gone off without a hitch. Derek had kissed him then, unable to hold himself back, and quickly sank into Stiles’ smile, a messy, perfect press of lips and teeth, pulling Stiles down onto the floor and underneath Derek’s body. Stiles had smiled at him then, so full of love and mischief, and Derek would have been happy to stay right in that moment forever, but then Stiles wound a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, and everything is a warm blur after that.

Hours later, wrapped in blankets full of pine needles, Stiles had declared that sex under the Christmas tree was an official tradition from now on.

Derek feels familiar arms wrap around his waist, a damp press of lips on his neck, an exhaled breath skittering across his skin, and settles into the warm body behind him. “When did you get home?”

Stiles hums, pressing one last kiss to Derek’s neck before resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Ten minutes, give or take. Thai food came while you were daydreaming.”

“So should we eat or move the presents first?”

“Presents,” Stiles replies, already pulling away. “Then food. Then sleep. So much sleep. Hours and hours of wonderful, peaceful shut-eye.”

Derek laughs quietly as he follows Stiles up the stairs and into the office. He laughs even harder when he sees the look of abject horror on Stiles’ face when he sees the bacon paper.

“Really, Derek?”

He shrugs, then leans over to pick up a pile of boxes. “At least you’ll know what one’s yours.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

Derek just turns and walks out of the room. “You think I’m a delight.”

He chooses to believe that Stiles laughs because it’s the truth, and not because Derek nearly eats shit going down the stairs.

Fifteen minutes and a few Christmas songs later, the presents are evenly spread out under the tree. Stiles and Derek are sitting on the floor in the middle of a mess of take-out boxes and wine glasses. There’s a classical version of “O Holy Night” playing softly over the sound system, and Stiles is warm and sleepy against his side, not that that in any way prevents him from demolishing his fair share of food.

His food is gone in record time and Derek is not at all certain that Stiles slowed down long enough to chew.

Derek pulls Stiles closer as he finishes the last of his pad see ew with extra broccoli, because Derek is a “weird ass fuckin’ health nut” according to Stiles. Derek just gets the extra broccoli so Stiles stays out of his food. (He’s pretty sure Stiles knows that. He’s also pretty sure that Derek doesn’t care. It’s his food, dammit.)

It’s another thirty minutes before Derek forces Stiles to stand up with him so they can clear away their mess. Derek closes the lids of the boxes that still have enough food to be considered worthy of refrigeration, and hands them to Stiles to take to the kitchen. Derek listens as Stiles opens and closes the door, as he shuffles over to the sink and turns on the faucet to wipe down their dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. Derek moves over to the trashcan as the last notes of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” fade into silence. He dumps their trash and walks over to Stiles, who’s wrist-deep in soapy water, pulling him into the living room by the elbow just as the tinny sound of a xylophone playing “Jingle Bells” comes on.

“Derek, what –”

“Dance with me,” he replies, wrapping one arm around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles chuckles, but grabs for Derek’s other hand anyway. “I couldn’t have dried my hands first?”

“Nope.”

He knows he’s won when Stiles sighs, settling into the warmth of Derek’s embrace as they gently sway back and forth as Brook Benton’s voice floats around them.

_I want my arms around you for Christmas_  
I need no presents under the tree  
You’re all I want, my darling  
And that will be the world to me 

“My parents loved this song,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. “What?”

“Every Christmas my parents would play music after dinner. We had a house full of werewolves, and mom always said that the obscure Christmas tunes were the best way to get a little peace in the house after a long day of entertaining.”

“That’s smart. We’ll have to try that.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, leaning down to rest his forehead against Stiles’. “It worked then, but it may take some _really_ obscure music to shut up our pack.”

“Well,” Stiles says. “I think you asking me to slow dance might work.”

“Yeah,” Derek smiles. “Maybe it will.”

***

They wake up the next morning curled around each other in a pile of blankets, sweaty and sleep mussed and content, the sunlight shining through the sliding back door warming the room around them. Stiles’ hair is sticking up on one side, he has red sheet marks all across his right cheek, and the color only deepens when he realizes he’d drooled all over Derek’s shirt in his sleep. Derek pushes him away slightly, wanting nothing more than to strip down to nothing but his boxers while he and Stiles open presents, but the pack love to show up unexpectedly to make things as awkward as possible, so he opts to stay dressed.

Stiles stretches, arms raised straight above his head as he yawns something Derek interprets as some variation of “can we open presents now”, but all he sees is warm skin and a happy trail and frankly, presents are the last thing he has on his agenda right now.

“Derek? You there big guy?”

“Huh?”

Stiles smiles at him like he knows exactly where Derek’s mind was headed. “Presents? I want to know what’s under the bacon.”

“I suppose,” Derek sighs, drawing it out as he reaches for the gift in question. “I get to open mine first though.”

“What?! Since when?”

“The oldest rule in the book: Age before beauty, Stiles.”

“Yeah, well, Beauty was a horse,” Stiles mutters, pulling a medium-sized box from behind the tree. “Hope you like it. Dick.”

Derek eagerly rips off the snow-globe themed wrapping paper; normally he’d unwrap with some amount of care, but this is a gift from Stiles, so he tears into it with the enthusiasm of a five year old. This is Stiles after all, and for as insensitive as he can be sometimes, he gives amazingly thoughtful gifts. Stiles is the best. Stiles’ gifts are the best. Stiles –

– got him a box of dog toys.

Derek’s heart sinks in his chest a little bit. He thought they were past the dog jokes, past all the jokes really, but apparently Christmas truly was never meant to be his holiday.

“You’re sad. Why are you sad?”

He looks up and is met with a very confused Stiles. “Because you gave me dog toys? I wonder, Stiles.”

“Derek, I –”

“No, it’s cool,” Derek grumbles, waving it off as he reaches for another gift.

Stiles reaches out, hand wrapping around Derek’s wrist. “No, it’s not cool. Derek, get to the bottom of the box.”

Derek frowns, pulling his hand back with a jerk. “Stiles––”

“Bottom. Of. The box.”

He doesn’t want to argue, not on Christmas, so he gives Stiles the benefit of the doubt and digs to the bottom of the box, where he finds a picture of a dog.

“What?”

“Flip it over,” Stiles urges, and Derek does.

_Sadie Hale_  
1 y/o  
German Shepherd/Lab Mix  
Adopted: Dec. 2017 

Stiles is grinning now, so hard that Derek thinks he can see all of Stiles’ teeth, but he doesn’t care because-- “You got me a dog?”

“Well, us, yes,” Stiles shrugs. “But it’s your name on all her papers. We can pick her up from Deaton tomorrow.”

“I…,” Derek has to swallow around the lump in his throat before continuing. “Thank you.”

Stiles practically preens at the thanks. “You’re very welcome. Now, me!”

Derek hands over Stiles’ gift, the biggest gift wrap eyesore he’s ever seen, and watches as Stiles rips it down one edge and gently pulls the frame out, upside down. “Ooh, I bet it’s the first picture we ever took together. Or, or maybe it’s from when Scott dared you to do the Ice Bucket Challenge and you looked like a pissed off dog. Or maybe––”

Stiles is immediately silenced when he finally turns it over, mouth hanging open and Derek can hear as his heart begins to race and Stiles’ breathing becomes a little more erratic as the seconds pass, but Stiles isn’t reaching for him, so he’s sort of at a loss.

“How– how did you get this?

Derek smiles softly, reaching out to link his fingers with Stiles. “Your dad. He was holding on to it until you had your first Christmas with your own family. I guess he thought now was an appropriate time.”

“I just,” Stiles sniffles, wiping away the tears in his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “I can’t believe I actually saw my mom kissing Santa Claus.”

“That would be what you focus on,” he laughs.

They sit there in companionable silence while Stiles runs his fingers over the glass, tracing the lines of his mother’s face and staring wistfully. Derek wonders for a moment if he’s overstepped, if this is something Stiles would have rather received from his dad instead of him, but when Stiles looks at him like he’s the best thing in the world, all those doubts melt away.

Stiles stands up and walks over to the bookshelf. He spends a few minutes re-organizing various books and trinkets until he clears enough space for the picture to have its own spot. 

Derek gets up and moves to stand behind Stiles, wrapping both arms around his waist. “So you like it, then?”

“I love it,” Stiles says as he turns to face Derek. “And I love you, too.”

Derek can only think to kiss him then, so he does. It’s a gentle press of lips, and as Stiles sighs into it, he thinks of all the trouble and stress of the last two weeks. He thinks of the bad advice, the more helpful suggestions, and the moments where he’d thought about waving the metaphorical white flag. It had been an absolute mess, and Derek’s bound to repeat it again at some point, but then the image of Stiles’ face upon seeing his gift comes to mind, and it makes all the panicking worth it. Despite everything, Derek Hale managed to pull off the impossible. Maybe he preens a little, maybe he doesn’t. No one will ever know.

But right here, right now, Derek knows one thing for sure: This really _is_ going to be the best Christmas ever.


End file.
